Female Domination proved to be for me more than just role reversal and power exchange in BDSM games. When I got involved in it I couldn’t believe my senses! It felt refreshing, mentally challenging, intellectual and spiritual, and far from romantic ‘reproduction’.

Female Domination is a refinement of sexual expression; education about ethics of sexual behaviour evidently led by a female. With her being in charge it studies, practises and applies erotic skills of seduction through a woman’s cultivated, personal power. It’s not the sex trade or industry.

With her animated sessions the Dominatrix lets one enter a sphere of eroticism that isn’t based on traditional courting encounters and elements. Under her firm guidance she illustrates the thrills of taboo. Over time FemDom for me gained a value higher than the esthetical elegance of the leather clad woman who awakens respect in men, because in fact, it forms and alters men’s behaviour.

It represents the firm but fine, sexual yet discreet, aggressive but non-destructive attitude of a woman. Once found within it has to be taken care of, and explored in its depth. Only then it can be adopted as lifestyle or life philosophy or evolve into performing art. If not, it remains as any other artistic talent. Just being born with it doesn’t mean that an artist was born. Any art demands a whole being, requires searching for its meaning, exploring its presentation, discovering and connecting it with similar fields. Even doubting its purpose, strength and impact is part of the process.

FemDom is an art in all its meanings. It’s creative, intuitive; allows space for innovations prior to researching a specific interest. It is thought provoking, meant to entertain, be displayed and pass on a message through performance. It involves elaborate scene preparation: starting from the selection of appropriate props like fetish objects and costumes, ritualized accessories, through considering fantasies, taking into account limitations, all the way to creating the actual scenario, where both, the Domina and her slave feel comfortable enough to be pushed by each other’s reactions and responses toward the desired height, or depth.

Clear communication and for that matter language are tools that make each and every bdsm scene or play a unique experience. Negotiation ahead of time is half of the scene’s success. And let me stop here for a moment: the language.

Language in bdsm is a medium, where yelling isn’t necessary, where whisper becomes the acute transporter. Vulgarities turn into pure, transgressive poetry. It is FemDom where a woman can set her tongue free. In the beginning was the Word.

The word, said upon a vivid imagination, is an onset of strong emotions and arousal, a spark igniting a flame of desire in the listener. The terminology of bdsm beholds harsh and coarse language at its very core and a building stone, where whole phrases can trigger erection in men. The fact that [it is all the senses that perceive and process erotic impulses, including] the hearing is significant, because it is the state of awareness of senses and arousal, [rather than the final product of it – orgasm] that makes the sm play solely humane, erotic and sensual experience.

Listening is submission. Letting go is submission. Especially when stripped naked and on hands and knees, words becomes the ultimate exciter; magic that makes the bodily fluids flow. Words spoken out of the lips of a fully dressed sexy Domina become an order, order turns into task, task performed naked of layers makes the listener vulnerable, thus mentally and sexually aroused. The Domina hypnotizes the submissive and he follows her audio steps into subspace, which for her is the highest height – surfing on the orgasmic waves.

There is a man who, a couple of years back, contacted me by commenting on some of my writings, which were then posted on another live blog, wanting to connect through his submissiveness and his feelings about the natural order of women as the superior gender. His words, straight away revealing the adoration for dominant women, were the words of refined vocabulary for one purpose only, in this context, and that is to impress and emanate authoritative confidence in the reader.

As time passed, we managed to arrange a meeting in person, from which onward, he was reduced to being a mere sissy slut, feminized by wearing a sissy outfit, humiliated by doing various chores for me. Since then he is enslaved by his own burning desire to fulfill my whims as well as by my clear, stern commands.

The game I play with him has limits of mutual respect of privacy, but extends to the free use of his secretly submissive nature. I and him share the same interest in fine garments, delicate lingerie, leather accessories, stylish shoes, etc.

Thus I don’t resist forwarding him links to these beauty enhancements, the sissy looks at them, turned on and having a great imagination it doesn’t take him long to see me own the chosen items.

Pleasure is a stolen moment, hidden like a dirty secret, something sacred unavailable to everyday existence. It’s a sweet sin. It’s a state of highest alertness, not usual for humans, perhaps taken from gods: divine, maximal openness of the senses.

Through pleasure and enjoyment there is a connection to and understanding of the temporary; acceptance of the temporary. Knowing that it only lasts for a certain time the limited peak is treasured. It’s not endless. The time is crucial: without it the motionlessness would mean no perception of change. The constant state would mean no distinguishing between anything. There would be nothing.

Pleasure is the ultimate goal of those who lack. Pain is the ultimate goal of those who strive for pleasure knowing they don’t deserve it, so they suffer, they punish themselves for desiring pleasure. There are many forms of pain: I’m only interested in pain that is sexualized and paralleled with arousal of the senses – the physical pleasure.

Sexual desire, or arousal as an intimate state of body and mind needs to be concealed from view. Otherwise, in unwanted situations it causes social and moral judgment, and is looked down upon as primitive animalism. If sexual desire is connected with and directly related to the forbidden it creates a feeling of guilt. The pleasure derived from guilt in s/m, bdsm and D/s is worth the consequences. This mental pain is more bearable and indeed very pleasurable when combined with physical arousal.

Being devoid of suffering one is also less likely to fall into pleasure’s offerings. Neutrality is normally subservient to both pleasure and pain. Because when these sensations appear one can only shield them off with self control and discipline. Only then the neutrality overcomes pleasure and pain, and thus becomes harmonious, superior. This applies for sadists and dominants. They equally experience pain and pleasure, though rather through consciously inflicting these sensations on their devoted object of desire. Thus sadist and masochist, in a preset scenario become one entity, that relies on each other’s expressions.

A few weeks ago I had to visit Vancouver and I was really in the mood for an erotic bdsm game. I browsed through all the profiles of the local Vancouver dommes and hell, Vancouver is blessed with many very very sexy ladies! Domina Katarina directly caught my attention. Her images and site look a little vague; however her wording sounded like music to my ears. I did read all her blogs and it is obvious that she really knows how to play the game! So I send her an email to check if she was available.

We exchanged some ideas via email and it seemed to me that we have similar thoughts on what makes bdsm fun and exciting. So we settled an appointment and as if she could read my mind (I love chastity play), she ordered me not to orgasm any more before we were about to meet. Six days shouldn’t be too hard I still thought by that time, but already after the third day my hormone levels did rise so high that I couldn’t think straight anymore. Hour by hour it became harder and harder to keep myself concentrated on my job. Three more days to go! Not sure what’s the worst: being locked up in a chastity device without being able to touch yourself or having to keep your self-control. For sure she is skilled enough not to fool her! So I had to force myself not too lose self-control, but it was harsh, really harsh!

A few hours before our encounter I received an email from her with the location and a request to bring a bottle of white wine. What a pity that I hadn’t thought of that myself when I was still in Europe, because good wine is hard to get in Canada. On my way to her place I picked up a nice bottle of white and by the time I reached her apartment building I was completely ready for some good fun.

Without any hesitation I rang her doorbell: ‘Hello it’s Alfred here’, When she opened the door our eyes met and I directly melted: ‘Oh my god, she really looks sexy! My eyes stroked over her body from head to toe and back … ‘She doesn’t only look great, but she is also dressed up as like a ‘dream!’ Our eyes met again and …. ‘Oh my goodness, she is really totally sexually irresistible!’ How often do you meet someone that you really find totally sexually irresistible and works on you like a magnet? Tonight must be my ‘lucky’ night, I thought.

Her sweet voice invited me in and she directly told me to undress. When I was finished I took another look at her gorgeous body. She told me to drop on my knees and follow her. Almost naturally I dropped down and crawled behind her with a superb view on of her tight ass covered in leather. She sat down and presented one of her patent leather ankle boots in front of my face and ordered me to kiss them! This was the moment to step into the game and the point where I cannot deny any more that I liked submitting to this beautiful dominant creature. After kissing her boots it was crystal clear that she is in charge and that there would be no doubt that she was in control that night.

She started setting out her rules and I seemed to swallow each of them as if they were little sweets. Only the rule that I was not allowed to look at her any more, unless told to, was a bitter pill. She stood up and picked up a leather collar, closed it around my neck and locked it with a padlock. No way out any more! and she whispered ‘Hopefully I don’t lose the key’. The same ritual with the wrist cuffs which she locked behind my back. I felt my heart beating like hell and yes, she was really in power now! Physically and mentally! She stood behind me and I felt her warm breath on my neck while her gloved fingers pinched my nipples. Her other hand firmly took the base of my hard, very hard, cock.

She pulled me over to a large mirror and it gave me a glimpse of her sexy eyes again. She asked me if I like teasing and edging, which I of course couldn’t deny. How many times can you edge without cumming? 10 times? 20 times? Without any hesitation I confirm that 20 would be great, but as soon as I did confirm it my brain started racing: This could become seriously hard to bear. She teased the head of my cock, which felt like it would soon burst! and I gently slid into a state of total arousal.

She kicked my legs apart, attached a leather parachute around my balls and skilfully attached weight after weight. My cock became harder and harder under the pressure of each weight, but somehow it didn’t have the effect she was hoping for I suppose, because shortly afterward she removed the weights and parachute and moved me over to her bondage bench. With her very sweet voice she told me to lie down on my back and she bound me very tight so I wouldn’t drop off.

The leather strings of her flogger teased my body: she slowly pulled it over my whole body and face. I love the smell of real leather. Skilfully she heated up my body further, smack by smack the adrenaline in my body got mixed up with the endorphins suppressing the feeling of pain. Then she picked up her Hitachi. Her beautiful face looked down on me and the only thing I could think of was that I wanted to have sex with her! Right here right now! But she was in control and hell! She really looks gorgeous. To tease me a little more, she told me that many people could already orgasm from just the sound of the Hitachi magic wand. Although that does not work for me, it very easily brought me to the edge of an orgasm building up. The hormone levels in my body rose further and further.

With her sweetest smile she asked me which pair of nipple clamps I liked best which she showed in front of my face. The pain was intense and at the same time the Hitachi was doing its work. I needed to relax to be able to handle the intense pain and Domina Katarina ordered me to take a deep breath. Directly she lowered her nice leather covered ass down on my face! Which did not only take away my eyesight but also took my breath away completely. While the oxygen levels in my blood dropped, my heartbeat slowed down further. Gently I did slide into subspace.

She repeated this ritual a few times until I heard a pair of high heels approaching while I was blinded underneath her ass. Who the hell was coming in? She allowed me to get a glimpse of the other totally sexy creature that approached me. She introduced herself by providing me an excellent view of her well-shaped décolleté, which was tightly packed in a nice corset. How did I deserve this? Their eyes met and they hardly needed to exchange a word to take this act to the next level.

Domina Katarina handed a pinwheel to Mistress Morta and she started to work her way all over my chest and nipples. Soon she found my rock hard cock and each touch of the pins sparkled my brain like mad. The combination of sweet pain and arousal was almost unbearable and it became worse and worse with each roll up and down my cock. I felt like I needed to orgasm, but somehow it just kept me on the edge. Each roll down aroused me more and more and I could not orgasm this way even if I would like to. It is obvious that Morta and Katarina noticed it, enjoyed it and loved to torture me this way! and… They for sure weren’t about to stop.

After Domina Katarina made me edge a few more times with the Hitachi, Morta couldn’t wait any more to attach me to the spanking bench. Her joy and urge made me nervous about what I was about to experience next. After I was attached with my ass up in the air, Morta spanked and whipped my ass, teased me further and further while Katarina sat down in front of me, providing me an excellent view on her semi transparent panties and beautifully shaped shaved pussy. If I could only f*ck her for real, but I am afraid that is not going to happen tonight.

Then the frequency of bringing me close to orgasm and whipping of my ass increased. The periods between each edge reduced and I could hardly recover in between. They asked me to keep counting, I lost track and got nervous that they would notice and start from scratch again. By the time I reached number 20 I almost exploded. Each cell in my body contracted trying to prevent me to orgasm. I still didn’t have permission to cum, but it was really, really, really almost impossible to hold back. A drop of pre-cum released from the head of my cock and somehow I managed not to orgasm.

While I was still recovering from this mind blowing edge Domina Katarina smiled at me. They released me from the spanking bench and told me that the game was over. While I was climbing out of subspace Domina Katarina gently told me even not to orgasm for another 24 hours! My brain short circuited, but I was so flabbergasted that I even couldn’t think of protesting or begging her to let me cum. It took too much energy not to cum during that last edge and it was also more than obvious from the smile on their faces that nothing on earth was going to make them let me cum tonight.

…Winding the rope around you in particular order to appeal to the eye and to keep you still, using rope to accentuate and complement your body, I enjoy contemplating the living still-life you have become. …I won’t mistreat you, trust me, although you won’t have a means of escape, defence or attack. …You can admire and praise me from the cocoon that will morph you into a genteel seducer – because your harmlessness will attract me, pull me as a magnet into your field to interact with your invisible power – a power you don’t even know about.… It is the power of stillness, dependency, passivity and immaturity I want to test under extreme conditions and then evaluate your responses. … I enjoy the hunger in your eyes, the sexual need that overtakes you and overcomes you at the same time as your will and your individuality desert you. I’m merciful…but you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? I have high standards; it’s amusing for me to watch you strive to live up to them.… You make of yourself a gift to me. I like to open that gift slowly, deliberately, peeling back the layers of your defenses to reveal the naked vulnerability at your center. In that vulnerability, in your raw need, your will and your willfulness dissolve within you. … Even your breathing will be put to challenging patterns and the manifestation of your need to reproduce will be reduced to pure helpless desire with controlled pleasure.…When the rope first touches your bare skin it is a wilful surrender for you, but as it tightens firmly around your limbs it turns into a complete submission, allowing you to slide into a state of mind that’s without will, and devoid of any control. …There is no need to object, or even consider it. …You rely on what you hear, see, smell and taste. Only the touch is limited: provided to you as either reward or as punishment, where I either press the warmth of my leathered breast against your skin or whip you until you feel your skin burning.…The abrasive yet plastic texture of my rope evokes respect and security. … I let you feel its ability to wrap itself around any curve smoothly like a serpent. Your wrists are the first to be bound, then from behind your back the rope binds your arms and chest, leaving the nipples prominently exposed. … I think of two things while looking at them: to touch them right at that moment or to prolong the state of waiting, thus building up the arousal in both of us.…I also think of other parts of your body, how I want to approach them, what I want to touch them with. …I make a quick scan of you before I’m fully decided….

The aesthetics and safety of rope – part 2

The pleasure of keeping you in suspense is poignant; there you are, securely bound, immobile. I tie your balls with the 3mm. rope, tightening it until they’re swollen, sensitive, vulnerable. Watching your eyes widen, then I squeeze them and you cry out in pain. This makes me smile. With your balls in my hand, it’s wonderful to see what kinds of sounds I can draw out of you. After a couple of minutes of this entertainment I decide to leave you alone for a while, five minutes or more.

…But first I touch your balls very lightly, and watch the helpless desire arise in your eyes. I play with you in this manner for a while until you’re quite frantic with lust and need. It’s idyllic, this lovely little interlude……Then suddenly I slap your balls with my fingertips. You gasp with the shock as your breathing becomes rapid and irregular. My pleasure is intense. You look at me longingly as I walk away. Now you want me more than ever. But what can you do, other than strain against your bonds? I’ll be back of course, in a few minutes, to renew the torture, for much longer. Now that you know what’s coming to you (after a long suspenseful wait), your anxiety is exquisite.

For obvious reasons the traveler’s guide to Vancouver doesn’t mention anything about the exciting options of discovering the local bdsm scene, yet the vibrations of intense imagination travel across the world and I find myself to be sought after by those who reside elsewhere, as distance a) covers the traces of their secret desires, or b) it portrays their decadent tendency in a bohemian fashion – by traveling for it.

It is Monday evening. Dinner is light, French wine dark red. I’m half ready when Morta buzzes in. She joins me in the washroom to share dark eye shadows and mischievous glimpses in the reflection of the mirror.

He landed a day ago, had to shave for me, not climax since last Wednesday, bring a bottle of white wine and arrive on time. (Being late results in extra strokes for each delayed minute.)

He doesn’t know Morta is here. I greet him at the door, tell him to neatly fold all his clothes and put them on a prepared chair. Morta’s silence in the other room charges me with erotic anticipation. It only rises as he, naked, crawls in towards me, then kisses my high heel patent leather ankle boots. I allow him to look at me, dressed in short leather punk skirt, leather corset and opera gloves, wearing fishnets and transparent black tank top.

I tell him my rules, among them the one prohibiting looking at me any more until I say otherwise. His shaven skin trembles under my gloved touch; he is very aroused and there is no way he can hide it. After I collar him and cuff his hands behind his back I tell him to stand up. Sitting comfortably in my armchair I push him with my foot, heel poking at his skin to keep the distance so I can take a good inspecting look at his body. I walk around him, reach for his nipples from the back, glide my hand down to his belly and then lower to firmly grasp around the base of his hard cock and balls.

My other hand working the nipple, teasing it with a gloved index finger, my foot forcing his legs apart, my breasts against his back, my knee on his ass gradually make him slide into the sweet surrender. At this point I pull him around, he blindly follows and meets his own half-closed eyes in the large mirror. He see himself helpless, under the spell of my smile and weights burdening his balls. He is taken completely by my going all the way, a couple of times, to the very dizzying edge of orgasm. Pleasure is mitigated by the sensation of a higher level of it – the pain.

I lay him on his back on a bench where he is restrained – secured, devoid of fear of falling – with ropes. A heavy leather flogger lands on his chest, I pull this ever soft and sexy material to his neck then over his face, slowly, so he can inhale the scent of its leather straps. Once again he is taken by his senses, yet it’s not an illusion. I bend over his face, look into his eyes, let him watch my thought-synced red lips and order him to take a deep breath. Then I plant my skirted ass on his face.

Torture continues: tweaking of the nipple clamps while hitachi works its magic is just the beginning.

Suddenly, but not to my surprise, glamorous and sexy, Morta walks in. The silence of my torturous teasing game is interrupted with the clicking of her shoes, approaching the audio space, visibly increasing his arousal as she draws near. And there she stands above him: tight, short sleeve blouse with deep cleavage exposing her plump breasts, satin, silver corset and tight, knee length skirt. She takes action right away. After brief, but sensuous introduction of her full décolletage to his face I pass her the pinwheel, knowing where she’ll apply its texture. From nipple to nipple she wheels it across his chest down to find the swollen, erect and very hard member. While she spends a generous time exploring that area I finger his mouth. He sucks like a slut looking at my lips. Not allowed to orgasm under any circumstances he has to simply ‘stop’ us nearing the edge, which happens multiple times. Again, pain and pleasure means that at these moments Morta puts a bit more pressure into the stimulating pinwheel. I can see the sparkles in her eyes: she can’t take them off the object of her torture. There is just pure pleasure; no resentful punishment in the way she administers her will. That comes later after we find him spent and boring. We want to see more meaningful reactions so we release him, shake him up a bit and pull him by the balls on a leash to the spanking bench….

Morta and I have developed a way of communicating, where just looking at one another is enough to know the next move. I guess these things are part of any interaction that is being enjoyed with a same or similar level of enjoyment.

We sit down almost silently and realize that there isn’t a better way to welcome reality than opening a box of bittersweet chocolate pralines the foreigner brought and let them melt with the night’s gifts on our tongues.

The strong scent of lilacs he brought fills the air, stimulating my gradually increasing sadistic mood. There is a layer of aggression in the way scents approach senses. It is similar to the erotic aggression that overcomes me when met with the subtle yearning of a shy submissive; subduing him to it.

Today he was unusually alert, watching for any clues or gestures to see whether he was found pleasing. Today I did not hood or blindfold him so I could also observe what his eyes tried to say, as the rule of no talking without permission was in its full effect. To make this rule easier to obey I gagged him: I let him suck on a red rubber ball while slowly unzipping my PVC shiny top. To his surprise which his eyes couldn’t hide there was another layer of sexy material underneath it. The buckles on the straps of my leather bra reminded me of the buckles on his wrists and the wrists themselves, and I suddenly wanted to have them neatly crossed above his head.

So with his hands neatly crossed above his head I was gently but firmly pushing him to back up into the very corner of the room where the chain hanging from the ceiling would keep him secure in this position. With the spreader bar between his legs I created a space I needed for wrapping the rope around his balls and hanging a weight from them. Not too heavy, but with its persistent pull doing the trick for longer than the heavy one.

Only when I picked up the phone and said “Ok, you can come up now!” his look changed from that of someone in heaven to an extremely curious one with a slight hint of fear. I released the ball gag having him lick and suck the saliva clean of it. The last thing I saw before I turned around was his painfully erect member, and what was left in the room behind and after me was the scent of lilacs and the sound of my distancing footsteps in high heels.

I closed the door on him.

Chatter, laughter, flirtatious greetings, and another man’s cheerful voice was what he heard as he later admitted in jealousy.

And in one…, two…, three seconds I opened the door again, but shut the light off instantly. Through the wolfish grey twilight, knowing where objects and furniture lay, seeing only the silhouettes, I led my new play toy across the room on a short leash. I positioned him on a spanking bench facing the door with his bottom facing my chained submissive. When the light that revealed me wearing a strap-on came on again, the whipping began….

The image I’ve been seeing lately is quite blurry, like a still-life looked at through a hazy lens. By describing it here, polishing its details and getting your imagination going, I will turn it into a clear narration of an erotic story for good night dreams.

A woman dressed in a long black (since it is a black-and-white graphic illustration it could be satin, pvc, latex or leather) evening gown, her waist obviously tightly laced in a corset highlighting her curves, reclines on a daybed. One of her feet is almost touching the floor, her toes balancing a high heeled shiny shoe. Can you see the potential of not letting the pretty shoe fall to prevent such a disaster?

She stares piercingly at the artist, looking down at him condescendingly.The opacity of the dress already described reveals her nipples, that are, classically in such portrayals, pierced, with a start-shaped jewel around them.

Her right arm rests on a shapely cushion. No, wait! Zooming in, from close up it is actually a nice, round female bottom with a crystal butt plug right in its centre.

Her right arm rests on a nice, round female bottom, while her left arm is outstretched, holding in between her gloved fingers a chain of a nipple clamp righteously pinched onto the nipples of another female seen in profile. She kneels looking at her Mistress with arms bound and buckled in leather sheaths behind her back, corset collar on her neck.

These four figures we observe are very comfortable in their roles, seem to know and enjoy each other, thus allowing for grandiose erotic posing.

In the background, behind the Madam’s daybed and in front of the bent over girl’s face, who serves as cushion, there is a beautifully framed mirror. In it we read this girl’s expression as flirtatious, as she has her tongue stuck out, one eye closed, the other making an eye contact with the artist….

…who appears as a mere reflection in the mirror. Wearing no clothing, collared, his penis is locked up in a chastity device.